


Shit, not fairy tales, just got fucking real

by SSAerial



Series: screw fate and her shenanigans [1]
Category: Bleach, Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: But still really really random, Gen, I have no fucking idea where the hell this came from, Not as bad as I thought it would be, Read at Your Own Risk, Tell me what you think
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-01
Updated: 2015-05-01
Packaged: 2018-03-26 16:41:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3857704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SSAerial/pseuds/SSAerial
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emma collides into a really weird guy with neon orange hair that has to be dyed, she’ll give up her firstborn child to prove it. The universe mashes these two together for kicks and giggles, and fate’s busting a lung by now because neither of them know what they’re getting into.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shit, not fairy tales, just got fucking real

**Author's Note:**

> What the hell did I just create?! I have no idea what the hell I was thinking when I wrote this. I still don’t know how this came into being. Ichigo just swooped in on the scene out of nowhere, being the scowling badass he is, and intervened saying bitch, please, I got this. Seriously, I have no idea if I’m ever going to finish this. I’m probably not. I seriously have no idea. Just have a go at it and tell me what you think in the end, because I still don’t have an opinion on this.

In the streets of Minnesota, fifteen years old Emma Swan wasn’t having a good day.

A good day entailed pickpocketing a couple of wallets enough to buy lunch, securing a place to stay for a few nights, and swiping a pack of gum if she could manage. People leave things everywhere when they don’t pay attention.

Unfortunately, she was bucks short from getting even a McDonald happy meal and her stomach was growling like a bitch. It was three in the afternoon as she shivered in her not very thick jacket with fall in the breeze as she stalked down the sidewalk with shoulders hunched and hands desperate for warmth in her jacket pockets.

Glancing around surreptitiously, she found a mark from a pudgy old man tottering by with a bulging wallet full of cash just ready for the taking. Very casually, she brushed past him and easily slipped the wallet out of the man’s back pocket. Honestly, what idiot put money there of all places? He practically deserved to be robbed.

Grinning just a bit too eagerly at the thought of food and hell, maybe even a thicker jacket, made her careless enough to not pay attention until a hand firmly grasped her shoulder and whirled her around.

A very bright orange visage assaulted her, the sun shining behind the man lighting up the color not helping in the least. When she got adjusted by the blinding color, she tried not to flinch at the dark scowl that was etched onto the man’s face.

He looked like a punk. That was the first thought that popped into her head before she scowled back and ripped her arm away from the man’s grasp.

“What gives dude?” she spat out harshly, eyes darting around a bit in panic as she tried to find an escape route. From the looks of it, there wasn’t any.

The orange dude seemed to scowl even harder at the question. He didn’t try to grab her again thankfully, but instead crossed his arms which just fit the gangster profile he was portraying. It was admittedly intimidating.

“That should be my question brat.” Emma felt all her teen indignation rise in her chest. _Brat?_ “Give the wallet back and don’t be an idiot. I don’t want the police involved.”

“You threatening me?” she didn’t manage to keep the edge of dread out of her voice. If the police found her, she’ll be dragged back to foster care to watch kid after kid get adopted while she was left in the dust. She’ll probably be locked up for running away and who knows what else. There’s no way she could go back.

Some of that fear must’ve been visible on her face because the man’s expression morphed into a frown, which was just a step better than before, brown eyes intense as he narrowed his eyes at her. It was unnerving, like he could read her every thought with just one look.

The man seemed to have reached some sort of decision because he simply sighed and rubbed the back of his head in clear exasperation, face clear with only his brows furrowed.

“Look, just, hand the wallet over, alright? I’ll give it to him.” His glare came back full force when he sharply turned to look at her, eyes burning like the sun. “My only condition is for you to stay here until I come back.”

“So you could turn me in to the cops?” she jabbed back because this was way too strange to not warrant some suspicion.

The man rolled his eyes. Heavily. Emma knew she should feel offended by now, but she was still a little thrown by the man’s atypical behavior that practically screamed ‘psycho weirdo over here!’

“If I wanted to turn you in, we wouldn’t even be talking right now.” He stated flatly. “Now don’t move.”

And then just as suddenly as he appeared, he prowled off and left her reeling in his wake.

Shaking her head in disbelief, she shuffled uncertainly where she stood. She knew she should be running, knew she should escape while she still could.

But damn if she wasn’t curious. It was a dangerous trait, but she couldn’t help it. The guy may be a total basketcase, but he didn’t feel dangerous or anything like a pedophile. Not once did his eyes drift downward, glare firmly staring her in the face.

She bit her lip thoughtfully. Now that she thought about it, he looked about in his mid to early twenties. She would guess he was at most a decade older than her.

She watched as he ran up to the fat man and she could see him practically shoving the wallet in the man’s arms. While she couldn’t hear what he was saying, the weirdo seemed to be barking at the fatso while towering over him like a phantom. The fatso was paling at every syllable, wilting away from orange dude like a flower having a sudden aversion to the sun. It was honestly sort of hilarious.

Orange dude finally seemed to have stopped talking, mouth snapping shut much to the fatso’s noticeable relief, and gave a finalized curt nod before rotating around and coming towards her.

She tensed when he came closer, ready to flee if necessary. The orange guy raised an eyebrow at her, as if surprised she hadn’t run for the hills yet – though she was still tempted to, making no question of that. He grunted and jerked his head to the side where the diner was.

“So, I was just about to eat lunch. Hungry?” somehow, he managed to make it sound like an order, which would’ve rankled her if she wasn’t so busy dropping her jaw in shock.

“What?” she embarrassingly squeaked, though she felt it could be excused considering the situation.

“Are you hard of hearing? I’m offering you food. And indoor heaters. You’re practically shaking in your boots.”

“Am not!” she denied, even though it was totally true. And it was converse sneakers, thank you very much. “Why the hell are you doing this?”

Orange dude gave her an are-you-stupid look she didn’t deserve. “Because I want to. Besides, it’s better than pickpocketing idiots who don’t know common sense unless it shits them in the face.”

She couldn’t help the slight chortle that escaped her, instantly making her clamp her mouth in horror with her still freezing hands.

For the first time since they encountered one another, the strange man’s scowl fell away. A small, crooked grin took place instead, awkward but genuine in a way she hasn’t seen in a very long time. He looked less like a troublemaker and more like the kind of person she couldn’t help but feel she could trust. It was both terrifying and comforting, like the world wasn’t so hellish and good things really could happen. Maybe even for her.

“So,” the guy’s eyes flashed blazingly, daringly, at her. “You up for it?”

She looked at him, really looked at him. And it was only for a second, but there was something in those eyes, that face, that she recognized. A haunting lost quality she looked at every day in the mirror, the question ‘ _where is home?’_ shining through. Crippling loneliness coupling with wanderlust searching for something, someone to hold them down.

And because she never backed down from a challenge anyway, she said, “Yes.”

**Author's Note:**

> Please review on the way out.


End file.
